


The Boy Who Shook the Earth: Excerpts

by Atomicity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Earthbending & Earthbenders, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29628960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atomicity/pseuds/Atomicity
Summary: What can stand against a person with an unshakable will? Not another frenzied year at Hogwarts. Not a blighted specter from days wished to be forgotten. Not a razor-sharp beauty who could hurl fire. Not even the Earth itself. Earth Manipulation AU. Snippets from a story in development.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Kudos: 4





	The Boy Who Shook the Earth: Excerpts

**Excerpt 1: Calculated Risk**

He braced himself as he felt for the distinct vibrations in the earth. _Twenty metres away_ , he noted. His adversary was preparing their final push and here he was, cornered and low on options. As usual. The pillar he had taken refuge behind was large enough to shield his entire body, but left him unable to see his opponent without putting himself at risk. Every few seconds, another wave of suppressing fire wailed on the pillar; there wasn't a large enough window for him to safely get a visual. He was trapped, his cover slowly being whittled away. He was running out of time.

A bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face. He was panting, catching his breath, while a familiar soreness seeped into his body from the injuries he'd sustained. Nothing broken, thankfully, but plenty of bruises and some jagged scrapes. He'd stayed stationary long enough, and things were only going to get worse. Huffing, he clenched his fists and made up his mind. He had made it through worse odds, he thought mirthlessly, and began to formulate one last plan. 

Given the amount of shifting he sensed in the ground, he knew his opponent was aiming to end things right here. They stood, rooted in place, watching his pillar and waiting for him to run out and try _something_. There was very little he could do after all; he knew it and so did they. But they were also unmoving because they were busy Pulling and Shaping earth. No doubt getting ready to make his life hell the moment he stepped into view.

There was enough space between them that Harry could prepare his own massive counterattack before his opponent could reach him. But he had spent most of his reserves on a failed attempt to crush his enemy with a pair of 7-foot stone walls. He had to move now, he decided. His only option was a blitz: rush in as close as he could while scouring for an opening to react with a quick counterattack. It was all-or-nothing, putting his trust in his reliably snappy reflexes.

Mind made up, he inhaled deep into his core, fixed his stance, and began to draw up a quick burst of power through the ground before abruptly turning and striking the pillar, sending a chunk of stone hurtling in his adversary’s general direction.

Coming out from behind his now fractured hiding place to catch his opponent’s next move, he immediately noticed that one, the projectile had not been a very successful distraction, and two, there were now two fist-sized stones whizzing toward him. He propelled himself horizontally off of the pillar just in time to avoid the hits, muttering a curse under his breath before pushing off of his legs to dodge the next incoming volley. So much for the big play he had tried to predict. He had misread his opponent and was now paying for his mistake in blows. 

His only hope now was to somehow thread the needle, advance the twenty metres, and slip into close range and take the fight from there. He steeled himself, arms bruised from the volleys of rock he'd had to block or deflect. And he shot forward, with deadly focus. His opponent however had ammunition to spare thanks to the prior preparation time, and held nothing back with round after round of stony missiles. Weaving left and right, knocking away projectiles in his way and getting grazed by a shot or two, he managed to close the gap to only five metres. Four. Almost within striking range... 

So focused on dodging and advancing, he missed the slight movement from his opponent and the subtle Pull in the earth until it was too late. His adversary summoned a small block from the ground in front of him, just large enough to catch his foot, and caused him to tumble into an unmoving heap. By the time he rolled on his back, regained his wits, and opened his eyes, there was a jagged stone spear pointed at his chest. 

"That was surprisingly close, Harry; I’m impressed. I thought I had it in the bag when I pinned you down behind that pillar, but you did very well dodging my projectiles. Did you really think you could make it to close quarters though? You could’ve saved yourself a lot of unnecessary lumps. Honestly!"

Harry groaned through the throbbing that was just getting worse, hobbling to his feet with a hand from his bushy-haired sparring partner. Hermione was right of course, but it didn’t help his pride, or his body, hurt any less. 

"I couldn’t just give up, Hermione. That’s not an option in a real fight," he countered. "I made the best of the situation and took a calculated risk. Unfortunately for me and my now dilapidated frame, it didn’t pan out this time around."

"Well it's what you deserve for trying to _crush me between stone walls,_ " Hermione huffed, and largely ignored Harry’s grumbling. He often got like this after a loss during their sparring sessions, but he would revert back to his normal self soon enough. Harry and her were near even in sets, with Hermione having the slight edge ("52 to 48, thank you very much," he could hear her say). She had the tactical advantage, and the power to back it up. Meanwhile he was annoyingly scrappy and agile to boot. 

A pack of water flew at him from the sidelines, accompanied by the voice of their audience. "You’re still mental to go in for the close quarters push, mate," Ron chimed in, giving Harry a playful shove. A shove that almost knocked him on his ass again being as exhausted as he was. "Keep being that reckless and you'll be beaten to a pulp and bedridden by the time the Rookball World Cup comes around! You'll miss out on seeing Krum crush the Irish!"

"You're one to talk, Ron. Don't go getting your foot broken sparring against Hermione again, or you won't be able to see your precious Irish Trio neutralize Bulgaria's only reason for being in the finals in the first place!" Harry shot back, suppressing a smirk.  
  
"Oi! That was _once_ , two years ago, back when we were idiots. Not including Hermione, of course," Ron said, adding in that last bit hastily. "I'm just saying, even I know when to dial back on the Gryffindor tendencies when I'm in a pinch. You could use a little more of that cunning of yours too, Mr. Heir of Slytherin."

"Enough, both of you. Ron, Harry was cunning enough to try surprising me with a frontal assault. If it had worked you'd be singing a different tune entirely. And Harry, everyone knows Krum has the ability to match even the Irish Trio in points per game if he's supported well. The finals are going to be incredibly close."

By the time Hermione finished, Harry and Ron had stopped in their tracks and exchanged a look of absolute bewilderment.

"It's called keeping up with current events?" Hermione replied bemusedly. "Plus, Lavender and Parvati would not shut up about Krum during the Playoff season. A girl's bound to get curious… about the game, of course," Hermione noted, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. The boys were too busy recovering from their initial shock to notice a thing.

"Now then, Mrs. Weasley is calling for us. And we need to get all this dirt cleaned off before dinner."


End file.
